Killing Abraham
by MuddyWolf
Summary: This deals with the ever-debated Did Integra drink? theory. Attempts to substantiate. Added a few details; missed a couple points on--er, the clincal analysis..;;


Legal Stuff: Integra, Arucard, and anything else related to Hellsing is copyright to respected affiliates.

Anything you see here seem similar to your fic? Take it up with me.

Hello, people, I'm back! After an awful block, this is an attempt to write again AND FINISH EoAR

This is bad. I think. OO It's a crack at the anime version of Hellsing...OO

Vignette on Integra. Ice-queen is sort of a bad name for her---implying that ice melts. Oo

Started: 6/26/04 Rated: PG

Killing Abraham

by Blue9Tiger

It was expeditious as far as trials go.The guilty party was identified, Hellsing was terminated, its leader imprisoned, and the underlings scattered and disorganized. Section XIII at the Vatican praised God for punishing the heretical Protestants, fully believing that the Most High had granted the mantle of soul purification to the Catholics alone. The public biting their fingernails could finally rest easy, satisfied with the private trial---as long as the danger was over, they didn't care about the details. Not that the muzzled media hounds reported the true reason for the imprisonment of Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing. Ghouls and vampires were replaced with terrorists, the carnage was blamed on the so-called "anti-midian" technology, all no doubt the deranged babble of raving superstitious frenetics.

Most level-headed Londoners presumed the incarceration would last 5 years, 10 years....That's what they said, anyway. If someone wants you dead, no matter what the rhetoric is and what the laws say, that her country was free from the most extreme of human justice...'they'----those that would want to prevent complications in case she appealed to defend Hellsing's legitimacy--- would find a way.

Two guards stood with their lances at ready on either side of the padlocked door with ---ceremonial, it would seem---the armaments were real enough, though---a signal that the prisoner was high profile---big game.

Other guards roamed cautiously past the jail, unaware that the red gaze perched in the shadows was perpetually fixed on them. It had been restless---wary of the situation---It was not about to feed on the guards, free his Master himself---no---

**_The night is grey and wrinkled. And that she will make the decision---as she always does--- that is the fun of it all. _**

The prospect of fun spread that leering grin on his face. The fangs that had not yet been drenched in hot vitality gleamed from its seemingly static position on the piled stones. The guards marched by without marking the smiling shadow, that could at any moment drain the life out of them--if he were one of THOSE crude upstarts, bordering on animals in the greedy, self-serving way they fed, taking when they were already bloated, using human institutions as an excuse to feed, and wasting capable if inferior humans by making them ghouls then having the gall to timidly hide behind them. It disgusted him. Not even worth a round from his Jackal.

"All the same, freedom tempts me," his seemingly disembodied voice filled the bleak and musty hallway, though under the radar of the vanishing guards. The minute they vanished he melted into view. Not in need of the door, he slid into his black portal, carrying the Question with that enormous grin of anticipation, bared at the human who acknowledged him curtly.

A foreigner with his first glance at Hellsing would ponder the government's reason for taking so much precaution against her escape---after all, Sir Hellsing was female---young, to boot---probably inept, would give the police no trouble---to which the native listener would only have to point to his devestated London and the countless reconstruction projects cramming the city, not to mention the gurneys wheeling the human corpses away.

That soaked her clean reputation in a bucket of mud.

Not that what THEY were saying meant anything to her. She still knew who she was--

She was the modern Cromwell---fanatical in her views, extreme in their execution, deprived from most manners of worldly pleasure----aside from her cigars, at least--- indomitable in the face of opposition, and ruthless in extermination. That was the young woman and the dangerous felon bound by the wrists in the cell.

That foreigner wouldn't know by looking at her---perhaps he would take her for a white-collared man in a no-show job, waxing dainty and soft in a low-stress office, completely ignorant of the fact that she was a sharpshooter, the stress her job involved caused her to smoke out her lungs nearly to death---or at least to lung cancer---she was so dedicated to ridding the world of paranormal scum her office desk was often her pillow, and that the destiny of the globe rested first in her command---second in the power of her bestial weapon, third in the mass of knights she had gathered for this crusade.

And now, that savior was rotting inside a jail.

The spearlike eye of Sir Hellsing gutted the expensive veal couched in the ceramic dish...They had been evasive, in hopes she wouldn't know what it was for.

Bloody bastards. They knew exactly what it was for. And all that time they had treated her with outward affability and gentility, apologizing for the mold and the dampness, for the impartial necessity of her hands being bound and for the sepulchral air of the cell, for its coffin-like quality, all the while they were cowardly and furtively sharpening the blade while the rest of England, while Walter and her men, prayed to God that their commander would be freed after the number of years specified, and that would be it.

They were not aware she was not coming back.

This is what irritated her the most. Hellsing's highest obligation was God, Queen, and Country. The judiciary knew that. Then why in bloody hell did they not tell Walter that she was to be executed come dawn?! Yes, he was her servant. But this false treason that Hellsing was yoked with would not be exacerbated by the additional crime of her mens' forcibly entry!!! That they had kept the true sentence secret and lied to the people of England made them filthy, crawling vipers. She was so disgusted she could spit on them and their taunting veal, almost willing the doubting Thomases to wither and burn under the acid.

On top of it all the traitor among the twelve had ALREADY BEEN silenced. But the damage was irreversible. Hellsing was a traitor. Dispatching the actual individual would not drop the charges. An explanation to the Queen was in order, but those weasels---those slime-sucking RATS---

She broiled in her sordid thoughts without remorse for a scant minute before they evaporated into mist, much like that in which she was certain she could perceive his conniving eyes chortling in amusement. Always, amused, her servant. Death to him was a mundane, everyday occurence---hilarious.

THAT was the other matter on her mind at the moment.

Her curt answer to him---she had it ready on her tongue for the next repetition.

I would rather DIE than

"Than what?!" she queried aloud sharply, like the point of a sword. The low-pitched, masculine voice pierced the dank air of the cell. The very noise of her voice sounded somewhat strange to her---she was not one to frequently talk to herself and that made for a grave-like silence disturbed only when she did. It was only then she realized her joints were stiff and aching---from remaining stationary as well as----

'Laura'.

"Vile whore," she growled under her tensed breath, the stitches on her throat and breast still smarting somewhat. In an attempt to dullen the aching, she stretched and shifted one leg on the bed. The minute movement was a bit welcome, however little it was helping her physical condition.

She snorted in derision. Her gloved hands locked and against her perspiration-laced---

Sweat? Her? She dry as a tundra and infinitely colder? Her temperment akin to absolute zero? She tersely rubbed the first forming drops off her brow, infuriated. Fury in its varying degrees and stiff indifference...the only two emotions that she usually felt, it seemed. Haha.

The sweat would freeze before it could even ooze out of her pores. And she would use those frozen blocks of human frailty to make good her escape.

She swerved from this comparatively meaningless tangent to the central road, the one drowned in murkiness---that one that had been one straight path---not meaning tactics--of course, many options, sometimes limitless, other times one, ever-varied and ever-dynamic. But that one of ethics, of morality---on the Question that summoned her on one end to reject her HUMANITY.... It was coming up more often as of late. And only just now it had become completely plausible, logical---only now that this second option became so imminent. "I am to die on the morrow." That was what she told herself, coldly rational, without any of the spontaneous excesses of emotional spurt. They often said she was a corpse herself.

Any mention of that other, wholly unexplored side of life---ironically, the very word led her to think of

Him. He was due tonight.

Taking a damn long time of it.

To offer her undeath---that would give her power to not only escape this prison but to liveforever...

She thought back to the prayer. A perversion of 'And in dying that we're born to eternal life', she noted, feeling that acerbic taste collecting at the back of her throat. Not the kind promised by our Lord. This will damn me. Her unbreakable eyes bore into the blood-filled wine bottle. She admitted to herself that it was a sort of challenge to figure out WHAT was in there--today it might be wine, tomorrow it might be blood. In any case the bottle had been on his stained lips---and anything associated with him made her think of

It.

She knew he was using her. Whatever she chose, he would benefit. He would be free to act as he pleased or he would have unlimited access to her "Cromwell approval". Cromwell...a fitting codename for the Hellsing leader. Like the Lord Protector, she held indispituable power over the vampire, this libertine, this conossieur of that detestable French wine, that nightwalker who revelled in his rather lively undeath and the death of others...a bleeding maniac, to be sure.

_And what would I need him for after this, hm? Protection? Hah. In time and repetition the foul sustenance will make me as strong as he. Of course, at this point, he is Hellsing's strongest asset...the fact is beyond reasonable doubt._

_Mutual parasitism._

As if she were one herself---

_NO._

She slammed her gloved fist into the bed, the other one trailing behind it. Her teeth clenched, flashing in a predatory gleam, ferocious and unconquerable.

_Under no circumstances will I drink of Satan's cup. My sense of faith in God and the Anglican Church---that and my Queen and my country---that over all._

What was decidedly the straightfoward solution added complications in this present state. Back then it was essential that she had held out against the casual offerings with her usual admantine resolve.

To lose reason at such a critical moment would be folly---the Hellsing organization did NOT need another vampire to add to its ranks---that damned beast who acted according to an instinctual craving---she was not about to enslave herself to an instinct. She? A slave of anything? The thought itself made her smirk..haughtily, proud. Proud and enduring. Like her lineage---An addition of an "l" to prevent any public suspicion of having been connected by blood with the so-called 'vampire-hunter' from Amsterdam---now denounced as a lunatic and madman. Even now she cursed herself a thousand times over for nearly tainting her line with the hell-harlot's blood. Not a chance. The only recourse then was that crime-sin of suicide.

She would have, without hesitation, taken that "special suicide offer" that that reckless delinquent shrieked to the knights that day...She gave an amused half-chuckle.

But all jesting aside, suicide was preferable to shaming her family's untarnished name.

Her teeth---that strangely hadn't been rotted with the copious amount of smoking she did--- ground against each other, pinching the cigar between her molars. They clenched in her cold fury. Hellsing was now infamous---the very name was wrongly defiled, and the organization---- Branded as terrorists. The family was already dishonored---any of its valor--lost---because of those Goddamned blackguards that would hurl the blame and guilt onto the organization that shed its own blood to protect Queen and Country in God's most holy name.

To have the holiest purpose in mind and to be sacrificed. She did not see any thieves in the adjoining cell, however.

_WHAT?!_

Her eyes, nostrils, mouth flared, one stretching wider than the other in a fearsome contortion.

What impure brain cell of hers had caused her to make THAT sacreligeous comparison? She grabbed the gold cross embedded in her cravat and, her face contorting in fervent repentance, she asked for forgivness for her transgression. Before she could reverse the contrition by bitterly wondering if God could hear her from inside the prison, the Hellsing leader drilled the emotion into abyss with a glare of granite.

She saw the mist again before her.

It was highly unlikely that he would not race the morning. Her hours shortened. She could smell the terror---not her own---theirs. At doing this behind England's back--silencing her---not even the Queen knew of it, she was absolutely sure of it. The rank odor of mold, grime, and her own sweat mixed and rose in a conglomerate of ill vapors. Sweat..the nebula of fear---

_I admit it._

She sat motionless on the bed, one leg still propped on it, the other rooted on the cell floor---one foot already in Purgatory. No, that is not right. Of course, Purgatory was for cleansing, for purification. As far as she was concerned, her other foot was already suspended over the pit of Hell.

_Damnation...or let the inhuman freaks continue to parasitize humanity._

She riveted a steel-armored gaze at the mocking wall. Shadows mimicked Hellsing's past adversaries, jeering her from the immovable stone_. I AM afraid._

_That I am to die before avenging the honor of my family._

_I will never be afraid of death._

_Death would be afraid of me._

"What of undeath?"

The swarthy face previously masked by white-blonde hair, its bleached state showing years of unending toil to rid England of the hateful undead, raised slightly to pierce the vibrant corpse, an ironic contrast to her, haggard from this virtual---sealing. It had occured to her once or twice that it inverted the incident ten years ago---now it was she who was bound and locked away. Ha. She almost had laughed at that---but he had beaten her to it on the beginning of her incarceration. Afterwards it was considerably less amusing.

For once he was not laughing. What was the use of it, anyway? Laughter---healthful? Well goddamn that.

They needed each other in existence.

Both parasites.

As it always had been.

Bloodsuckers.

Why would this in the literal make any difference?

_OF COURSE IT WOULD MAKE A DIFFERENCE!!! _she admonished whiplike in her mind. _Have these months of stagnancy truly made you that degenerate? To even CONSIDER for a MOMENT the perilous acceptance of the triple jeopardy of becoming a monster, tarnishing the Hellsing name, and the imminent threat of eternal damnation_!!!

As this sifted through her brain the Hellsing battle cry reverbreated throughout her mind.

Now, Hellsing's once-revered name was howled and jeered at as terrorists and traitors. The world was far too vulnerable to deal with a menace that fearsome or that improbable to the unsuspecting public, And as for becoming a monster to destroy her kind---that would only have its advantages. She would escape, clear the organization--and her family's name, punish those responsible for framing it, and fill its shrivelled husk with capable soldiers that would again wield the eternal iron stake. Then there was the question of the heir, that would only be considerated if an emergency cut her undeath short....but as a logical human, the immediate issue was escape.

The time for the decision shortened. The vampire in his equally interminable resolve asked her for her orders. His Master was on the brink---where police girl had found herself in the grip of the masquerading vampire at Cheddar---she had chosen to walk the night.

**_What will my Master choose? _**

He had waited for this moment. His broad grin betrayed his anticipation at infinite access to his level 1 art. All he needed was the eternal Cromwell approval. What did it matter if it would be from his own kind? Where was the law that only humans could be masters of the No-Life-King?

And she knew this....she knew why he was so eager---besides the urgency, the element of time. He knew she knew this. They both consciously and willingly pulled each other's strings and remorselessly manipulated each other's dependencies.

_Parasites._

He would remain essentially Sir Hellsing's property---but that would change nothing. The only change would be that he would have bred a new vampire, and unlike police girl, would not be cautious about increasing her power.

The red-shaded vampire broke the glass for the twenty-ninth time that month. The mannerism--manically calm, which was no surprise. She did not carve a new expression in her stone mouth, but remained as statue-like as ever, weathered only in her brain.

_You make it appear so simple, bastard._ She watched the falling drops of blood, swelling into a puddle in the floor's cracks. As if it would only take a drop to change....She had read her family's research when younger---the process required a total transfusion. The less extracted and infused meant the increased risk of becoming a ghoul---and she knew that well enough---her men had but a pint of blood left in them when she was required to destroy them.

"It colorfully illustrates the ultimatum, Master...don't you think?"

She clenched her gloved fists. The abstract was lost on her.

_I don't see what color has to do with it_, she snapped mentally._ You're only attempting to minimize the technicalities. You, the smiling parasite drains the blood out of the potential corpse. Then it shares in the gore ritual by drinking the vampire's blood._

But it was merely a comment. She had already made up her mind.

So this was it. The corners of her mouth lifted in a closed smile---a rarity that the artificial light caught in its gaze.

Without a word, Sir Hellsing stood up from the bed, advancing towards the dripping faucet with that placid smirk. It seemed as if they would both get what they wanted. Sacrifices were necessary. The Lord Protector had Colonel Pride remove the dissenting members of Parliament to strengthen his army--so she would have to sacrifice her humanity to ensure Hellsing's survival.

But she did not make any decision based on impulse or emotional dictates. She was a human of reason. Fully aware that offering her flesh would undermine her authority, she advanced towards him, that masterful smirk still darkening her features.

The blood still dripped, spotting the cell.

Her authorative tenor cracked through the jail, her white-blonde eyebrows squeezing against the steel of her eyes.

"Make absolutely certain the wound is mortal and not effecting instant death," she commanded. The Jackal would be the thing. "Do it quickly, Alucard," Sir Hellsing added.

A bestial grin flared. The pentagram-etched glove snaked into the red longcoat and levelled it at his Master's forehead as he moved to point-blank range. The anticipation woke his dead nerves and his cadaverous muscles tingled. For a lingering moment he toyed with the risk that this may be a fatal shot. The Jackal WAS anti-freak---but if a stab through the throat didn't kill his Master---

You could never really tell with humans...

He lowered the firearm and paced backwards, about to the point where he killed the police girl. He paused to drink in the wonderfully horrific poetry in it---something like a circle completed after four generations. Right. The first... He snidely laughed at the pitiful old fool that 'killed' him over a century ago, vaguely wondering if that misguided human was watching his great-granddaughter consciously choosing inhumanity. He sneered, his fangs flashing in the dull light.

_**Watch this, Van Helsing. Your last human descendant is about to die.**_

The monster fired the explosive round through his Master's chest.

"What was that?!"

"A shot---I smell the powder."

"It's coming from Hellsing's cell."

"All units, respond immediately."

The bullet smashed in a flurry of smoke and powder through the ribcage, tore through the lung, forced its way through her back, ripping apart vessels that spilled cascades of the life fluid that joined the pool. She fell like a boulder in her own blood, the bright liquid tracing from her mouth onto the mess on the soaked stones.

Crossroads.

The sharp sting of fangs that had been bloodied countless and innumerable times was enough to stake the old patriarch a thousand times over---but any guilt, any remorse---was quickly eradicated. In the end, her absolute duty was to the Hellsing organization.

The crimson dinner commenced---the grand feast that he had been waiting for to taste again---the saccharine blood he had tasted when she was but thirteen---the young blood that had excited him, that had infused life into his once-decrepit body---and when she had commanded him that first time, boiling mad, proud, with her gun to his head---he knew who was his Master.

The only circumstance that was different was that now he was drinking from her throat---a privilege for which he had lain in wait these ten years.

What was rather singular was that he drank quietly--whatever primal, base expression he bared before the act, he used the utmost civility while feeding on his willing "victims".

_Hah. You're no victim, Integra. You are a willing and regretless host. _

Her admonishings burned like a stake on fire in her mind. The silent tongue of Alucard lapped at her throat. Oh, of course, the throat. This was the conditioned Vlad the Impaler, after all. He would not drink from anywhere else. Habit had ingrained in him the throat---where she had recently stabbed herself to PREVENT undeath. So much for that. Now it couldn't be helped. Now she felt the rest of her blood being drained---the normally clear outline of Alucard blurred out and in of focus--then being replaced with the vampiric blood---hazy at one moment and strikingly sharp at another. The line between expiration and the 'survival' of that---where one ceased to feel the sensations of this rather slow death and then to feel more 'alive' than one ever had been.

At least---more than she had been, her associates had told her over and over again.

A property of turning.

She followed every aspect of the transformation coldly, as if watching that squealing mole Kim or Hellsing's own Victoria turn---if she was present at her change, anyway. Not that she was not self-aware, being perfectly conscious that the change was happening to her---no less reason to examine with the utmost impartiality.

Sir Hellsing closed an eye smugly, actively feeling her humanity crumble. Eyes redden----The view of the surroundings---it did not become red, but she was certain her eyes did.

Canines and tongue elongate---occasionally this change will extend to all of the teeth---- She felt them pierce her tongue, stretching to an unnatural length---Internal processes cease to function as vital and constant cycles---Air is forced through the larynx---talking would not be possible otherwise, but respiration stops---As the vampire drained the last few pints, injecting his own, non-living blood with his serpent-like fangs, she felt her chest stop rising and falling--- The infusion of human blood induces artificial circulation, which merely adds nutrients to the dead cells and gives the animal a sense of well-being. The heart stopped pumping and her veins collapsed, filled only with the dead blood. Muscles, tendons, ligaments, are unaffected. The nervous system continues to serve a limited purpose---The atmosphere has no effect; it must be a solid or liquid stimulus, or else the vampire simply has a sensation of numbness----Indeed, that she had. She could no longer feel the damp heavy air--but she clearly felt the other midian's fangs in her throat. Skin cells no longer elongate and divide---they stretch over the wound. That was their "repair". The mechanism for these processes in total are unknown.

Not that it mattered _how _it happened--unless, of course, having knowledge of the change expedited the extermination process.

**_Transcend_**

**_man_**

_**Master**_

The body stiffens and initially assumes the temperature and pallor of a corpse, though the intake of human blood substantially raises the body temperature. It also returns the complexion, which may--surprise the enemy and maximize the effectiveness of the attack.

**_Ascend_**

**_the_**

_**throne**_

Operating too long without human blood will cause the vampire to return to a corpselike state until the opportunity to feed again arises. At rest, all internal functions cease.

**_Become_**

**_a_**

**_No_**

**_Life_**

_**King**_

The vampire licked the last drop and in turn filled the void. The process--this other transfusion designed to end life rather than to salvage it, was halfway finished. And there was no way she would terminate it halfway---Seras Victoria was the result of that. Sir Hellsing removed herself from the blood-washed stones and pierced the skin of the other vampire's wrist with the bestial fangs, tearing a sizable wound through the vein to the elbow. The iron taste swarmed into her throat---she nearly gagged the first time--the first time was always disconcerting---somewhat amusing--though this was vastly different from choking from the first time she lit the cigar. Irreversible. She drank, cold as ever---completing the part of the process that Victoria never completed: that of mixing the blood----combining the genetic material to produce the true vampire.

She heard the key jammed in the lock. It grew urgent---she drank faster, aware that the enemy was encroaching, Alucard's fanged grin broadening at each drop his Master took, his immortal, eternal blood filling the collapsed veins, making her strong, making her like him. Quart by quart the blood filled her, stripping her of her humanity, trampling upon Van Helsing's identity.

The bonds burst from her wrists and forced a ripple in the sanguine pool.

At that moment, the heavy doors gave way and a flood of uniforms rushed in, guns and truncheons drawn. The vermillion-clad vampire vanished into the abyss, leaving his Master there, in the scope of the sea of firearms. She drew her hand into her jacket pocket and took out a kerchief, rubbing off the excesses of the ritual with a gentlemanly air.

But that didn't fool them. The fangs, the change from a swarthy to a pallid complexion, the blood soaking through her suit, cravat, shirt, gloves, dripping off her cross onto the red-flooded floor, and those freakish shadows under the inhuman red eyes was enough of an indication.

"I---I--can't believe it--! She's one of them!"

"A good morning to you, lieutenant," Sir Hellsing saluted curtly, smugness written all over her drained face as she walked through the haphazard flurry of bullets---obviously they weren't trained to deal with this sort of creature. The pistol shells tore through her, blood leaking from the numerous wounds but seemingly having little effect. They could only gape as she answered, clutching the more vital areas but still---STANDING ERECT--- "I highly regret acting contrary to the Queen's will, but certain audacious individuals had the gall to relieve me prematurely of my command." The smirk flattened to her usual frown. "If any of you were privy to this brash act of treason I will spare you on the grounds that you were acting in the interest of the country, but be warned:"

The last few rounds the guards had went off. The target was knocked over halfway, but that was all, the terrifying result spurring their frantically panicked hearts as the wounds closed over and the bullets were expelled, clattering on the stones, unleashing an eerie echo that flew through the halls. She began to stumble away, the wounds taking some time to heal. The frown curled into a fierce snarl. "It is also in the country's interests for Hellsing to protect England and the crown from any and all adversaries."

"Such as---the likes of yourself?" snorted one of them disgustedly, betraying the wild terror in his stretched-out features, scrutinizing her up and down, the terrorist that was getting away---no, more than that, now---the MONSTER---the--FREAK. The ones that still had their wits reacted efficiently. They brought in their snipers, experts in the big guns and entirely green when it came to the undead, thus she kept on walking through the metal fury, grim determination chiselled on her pursed lips.

"Don't bother wasting your ammunition,"

_Unless it is anti-midian technology--the equipment that only WE have._

Ah, that was right. She was a midian now. Like Victoria. Like Alucard....

Dracula.

She could hear Abraham Van Helsing screaming in his tomb as she walked out into the early morning--that other part of the turning she had forgotten to steel herself for---the very light of the half-cloaked sun was irritating----almost fatiguing--- but since when did THAT ever stop her?

His old bones and those of his succeeding generations--- protested.

The partially-covered sun dried the blood on her clothes.

_I will redeem and preserve Hellsing. I swear it, Father._

The guards clambered after the monster that slipped unhurriedly into the shadows of an alley.

_Human or not._

BEGINNING

A/N: oo Sorry. This is based off of episode 13 as well as a picture of Arucard holding a gun to Integra's head. The white thing could be a sheet or it could be a shroud. Her eyes are also gray---in transition, maybe? Then there's another picture with a really ethereal background and her eyes are definitely gray there. Like many things relating to this long-debated topic, visuals are ambiguous---the only thing I can't think of as being ambiguous is that only vampires appear in Arucard's glasses on the ending theme. The smile shows consent, but it can be argued that it's sarcastic. XX But anyways, there it was. Also, I know that there's no death penalty in the UK anymore. Sue me. XX

OO And to all you veterans out there who're shaking your heads saying, "Oh, NO--not ANOTHER Integra-as-vampire fic"----oo What-Ifs are fun. Besides, it's substantiated. In terms of characterization--oo I don't know. Bad? Come on, veterans, hit me with flames! Hahahhaa!


End file.
